So on top of everything else, I get to feel guilty.
No, just, you know… that whole "date we quit trying if we haven't gotten pregnant by then" passed. I thought I was pregnant and then it was very apparent that I wasn't. (Like, I had a plan to go to the Dollar Tree for one of them dollar pregnancy tests, so… glad I didn't waste the buck.) And I'm trying so hard to just will myself to pack up all the baby shit and take it to Goodwill. But even thinking of it makes me cry.
And I was like, "Gee, Mockula, you usually write a list of all the things you're grateful for at Thanksgiving." And I was like, "Pound sand, inner voice!"
And then I was like, "Well, I remember how this process felt before I had Z, and now I have her, and my life is a million times more awesome even though it was pretty good before, because I have a wonderful family and home and job and my health and my Sweetie, who is just tops." And I managed to eke out, in my head, a little "I'm thankful we're together, and safe, and healthy, and warm." And inner voice was all "That's pathetic!" and then I felt bad for not feeling more genuinely grateful today.
But anyway, if* you see me driving a carload of stuff to the Goodwill, and on top of it is a crib, then, you know, just try to avert your gaze, because I am an ugly cryer and then I'll be embarrassed, too.
*And even if I manage to do it, no guarantees that it isn't some freaky bargain I've made in my brain to try to trick the universe into thinking I've given up. "Oh gosh! A positive pregnancy test! And just when I had gotten rid of the last of the baby things!"